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Sludge linked to an interesting article yesterday about a new species of sheep that scientists claim are 15% human. I guess it’s easier for Bush to disenfranchise another minority group if he can convince people that they are somehow less than “human”. I guess it’s easier to treat sentient beings like livestock to be bartered and butchered by right-wing hypocrites who would never even consider smothering their own children with mint jelly and gorging themselves upon their sweet, succulent flesh. It’s all just another page torn from the same old blood-drenched playbook the Repugs have been using for years.

The irony is that even if only 15% human, the sheep are far more “human” than your typical conservative – and ten times as smart. It’s no wonder then that the Shrub would seek to deny these brilliant, free-thinking creatures their Constitutional right to vote – chances are they’d all cast their votes for Democratic candidates. Their political leanings would not just be because of their superior intelligence, either. As an opressed class, sheep would likely find the Democratic Party more sympathetic to their suffering and supportive of their cause. Perhaps when these sheep finally tire of being fleeced by the Grand Ol’ Party - not to mention 2000 years of white male hegemony - they’ll realize how much they have in common with progressives like us. It might not be today. It might not be tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or even the day after that. But one day, Democrats will be able to say with pride that the Big Tent is full of subhuman sheep, rather then have to constantly hear it from sheepophobic cons in a manner that is obviously meant to be derogatory.

Watching the TV news last weekend, it was hard not to be sickened by all the acts of sadistic cruelty performed in the name of a supposedly peaceful religion. Even more so when one realizes that these Abu-Ghraibesque atrocities were being committed right here on American soil, against our own children, and within the once-sacred confines of the People’s House.

While the nation watched helplessly Sunday, hundreds of innocent toddlers were herded like cattle into an enclosed area and forced to collect brightly painted chicken embryos in a bizarre ritual to appease Bush’s angry consumerist Man-God.

Senseless? Yes. Barbaric? Rooty patootie. But forget for a moment the inhuman conditions that thousands of chickens are forced to endure at egg farms across the country. Put aside your gut-wrenching horror over the millions of unborn baby chickens who are never given a chance at life, hard-boiled inside their colorful shells by a peeResident who wouldn’t fund embryonic stem cell research to save Christopher Reeve’s life. With it’s emphasis on competition and the hoarding of natural resources, the traditional White House Easter Egg Hunt is less a homophobic neo-Nazi rally than an exercise in capitalist greed.

Isn’t it about time that we as a society abandon this primitive ritual in favor of a more community-oriented and earth-friendly alternative? I have the fondest memories of my mother’s annual Fungus Hunts. Every fall, the familiar sounds of Jefferson Airplane floating out of Mother’s van would be the signal for all the children of the neighborhood to go forth into the woods and gather mushrooms. No chickens were harmed. No children were emotionally scarred by an authoritarian male Easter Bunny. Instead, Mother would provide the kids with positive reinforcement by paying them a penny for every mushroom they collected, and a dollar if they stumbled upon one of the many plastic baggies of herbal glaucoma medication she stashed about the yard. The grand total was held in trust until the end of the day, when she would award it not to the child who found the most mushrooms, but to the one she deemed most needy. Although my bad back prevented me from joining in on the fun, the extra cash in my pocket went a long way towards lifting my spirits. At least, until I got the stuffing kicked out of me by the fascist neo-con larvae that were unappreciative of Mother’s valuable lesson about sharing with others.

And isn’t that what Easter is really all about? Sharing? Or is it Christmas? Whatever. Judging by the selfish, consumerist Götterdämmerung at the White House yesterday, it’s a lesson that so-called Christians seem to have forgotten.

This has John Ashcroft written all over it. I can hear the fantastic cat hunting stories already:

"We spotted a small cat herd in a glen about 30 yards to the north. After masking our scent with cat piss, we belly-crawled up to the edge of the clearing for a closer look. There were about 20 of them, milling around a litter box. Frank had a trophy tabby in his sights, but I was looking for something bigger. I sounded a few MEOWS and tossed out a ball of yarn to attract any rutting males.

"Sure enough, a huge Persian tom came bounding into the glen, almost right in front of my barrel. He was a real beaut - fluffy white with long whiskers and little metal name tag that glinted in the sun. The boys back at the lodge would be green with envy when I mounted this kitty's head on my wall.

"I patiently waited until he exposed his side and then took my shot. DAMN! TOO HIGH! The herd scattered to the four winds, but the Persian whirled and charged furiously through the brush at us. Frank and I leapt to our feet and ran down the hill, and we could feel his hot, tuna-scented breath on our ankles as he chased after us. He hissed with frustration as I dove for cover behind a large display of vacuum cleaners, but Frank kept on running and barely made it back to the truck before the cat was on him.

"I'll never forget his screams as the animal vicously clawed at his shins, tearing his camo trousers to shreds. Luckily, I still had my rifle. My hands shaking, I steadied the barrel on a Hoover Upright and pulled the trigger. This time my bullet found its target. The cat took a few steps and then fell, saving us the trouble of having to track him through the woods.

"Frank had a few nasty scratches on his legs, but they were quickly diminished by our pride as we drove through town with the kitty carcass strapped to the hood of my Ford. It was the hunting trip of a lifetime, and I can't wait to go out next week and get that tabby!"